


to be unbroken or be brave again

by Flowerparrish



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Awkward Flirting, Bucky Barnes Feels, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, First Dates, First Kiss, Getting Together, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Polyamory, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: “I have a date,” he mumbles.Steve’s eyes widen. “I didn’t hear that,” he says after a moment, and Bucky glares because he thinks Steve’s just trying to make him say it again. But no, Steve looks genuinely disbelieving.“I have a date,” Bucky repeats, voice firmer. “C’mon, Stevie, this is the part where you say you’re happy for me.”“I am!” Steve insists. There’s a weird tightness around his eyes, though, that Bucky doesn’t know what to do with.But then he considers if Steve had a date, and he thinks maybe it’s protectiveness? Because if Bucky pushes aside all the jealousy he’d surely feel, beneath it is the urge to not see Steve hurt.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Comments: 36
Kudos: 133
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotTheBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheBlue/gifts).



> For NotTheBlue for MTH 2019! Thank you for being so patient with me. This was a joy to write, and I really hope you enjoy it!

Bucky looks around a room of too many of his fellow students, surrounded by canvases and paint. It’s not a medium he really works with… well, ever.

But he’s realized that he doesn’t do things ever, in contrast with Steve, who is always out being social and going to clubs. Upon that realization, he’d asked Steve what events were coming up that he might want to go to. Bucky had picked randomly from the list Steve gave him, one that was traditional art hoping it might help connect him more to Steve. It was being run by one of Steve’s class friends, too—but it seemed like most things were run by friends of Steve, who was friendly with _everyone,_ an absolute golden retriever of a human being.

Bucky adores him a little too much.

Which was why, when Steve comes down with a cold that made his asthma act up in response, Bucky insists Steve should stay home and that he would go alone. Distance from Steve, exploring interests without Steve by his side… it might be good, right? He even promises to find Steve’s friend and apologize for him that he can’t make it.

It seems like a great idea.

Right up until he walks into the large art room that has been reserved for the event and sees the amount of people—people whom he doesn’t _know—_ inside.

Bucky almost turns and walks back out.

He starts to, in fact, turning and stepping toward the door… and he walks right into a tall blond guy carrying paint bottles. The paint falls, a couple of tubes exploding paint across the floor—at least, luckily, the floors have seen worse—and the shoes of both Bucky and the guy.

“Shit,” Bucky curses, stepping back. He reaches out at the same time to try to steady the guy he’d stumbled into. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

The guy regains his balance with the ease of someone who is either very graceful or very accustomed to falling. He meets Bucky’s eyes and laughs a bit, a warm sound. “It’s fine,” he assures Bucky. “I’m used to it. Normally it’s just me tripping over my own feet, so at least I can say it’s not my fault for once.” His grin is teasing and friendly, and Bucky finds his anxiety easing slightly in response.

“Still,” Bucky insists. “Let me help you clean up?”

The guy shrugs. “Sure. Event doesn’t start for another ten minutes. Let me get these bottles set out and then we can clean up the mess.”

Bucky doesn’t know whether to follow the guy to the front of the room or not. He decides not to, because he doesn’t want to be weird, and instead goes poking around the cabinets in the room, looking for cleaning supplies. He finds some in a large cabinet at the back of the room and grabs an armful of paper towels and some cleaning solution, taking them back to the spot of the spill.

The guy joins him after a couple of minutes, but by then, Bucky already has most of the mess handled. “Damn, you’re fast.”

Bucky glances up, some of his hair falling out of his bun and into his eyes. He shrugs. “I’m a stress cleaner.”

“You stressed?” the guy asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Lot of people,” he admits after a moment’s consideration. He doesn’t like talking to people—unless “people” is specifically Steve—but he doesn’t see much point in evading hard truths either. Social anxiety is too hard to hide in a packed place like this.

“You picked the right event though,” the guy promises cheerfully. “Bob Ross’ style is all about de-stressing.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Bucky admits. “I don’t even know who that is.”

The guy gasps, hand going up over his chest in an exaggerated motion of distress. “You have to look him up later,” he urges, voice insistent. “And also, apologies in advance, I’m going to sound a little crazy if you don’t understand. Gonna be saying ‘happy accidents’ and ‘happy trees’ a lot.”

Bucky blinks at the explosion of words. How do people just _talk_ like that? “Uh…”

The guy smiles at him. “Sorry, I tend to babble when I’m on coffee, which is pretty much always! Anyway, I should head up to get things started. You can leave the rest of the cleaning to me and I’ll get it after; I’m sure there will be more messes. Oh, and I’m Clint!”

“Uh, Bucky,” Bucky offers back.

Clint beams. “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

It isn’t until Clint has walked away to the front of the room that Bucky remembers that Clint is Steve’s friend: Steve’s friend who Bucky is supposed to convey his apologies to.

For some reason, the idea of talking to Clint again later… isn’t awful. Plus, now Bucky _has_ to stick around, right?

* * *

Clint was right when he said that the “Bob Ross Painting Night” would be weird for him without the same background on who the fuck Bob Ross even was, a background everyone else seemed to have.

But it is also… strangely fun, once Bucky gets into it. He isn’t the first person to make a mistake—that’s Clint, right at the start and probably on purpose—but it gives everyone in the room an opportunity to chant “mistakes are just happy accidents” in a way that should have been creepy, but actually was kind of weirdly nice?

Bucky’s picture is blobby, but there are shades and “happy trees” and some clouds, and it looks… decent. Obviously nowhere near the things Steve can do, but overall, it isn’t terrible considering he’d been working outside of him medium.

He stays behind at the end to help Clint clean up, and he isn’t the only one. Still, eventually everyone else finds excuses to leave after laughing and joking for a bit, until it’s just the two of them and the original paint mess on the floor.

“Have fun?” Clint asks as he kneels down to scrub at a streak of yellow paint.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He kneels down next to Clint to scrub at a blue smear with a footprint in it. “Did you?”

“Of course.” Clint glances over at him as he says it, flashing Bucky a crooked smile. “Plus, I started my night running into a cute guy, so it’s definitely been better than most nights.”

Bucky blushes. “Oh?” he asks, unsure what to say.

“Yeah,” Clint replies, his own cheeks a little pink.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Luckily for him, when he opens his mouth, it apparently has its own ideas. “Do you… want to get coffee sometime? With me?”

Clint’s smile widens, no longer lopsided, now just big and bright with flashing teeth. “Yeah! Tomorrow? Is that too soon?”

“Tomorrow sounds great,” Bucky eagerly agrees.

Clint bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s gently. “Okay. I’ll give you my number and you can text me a time. I’m just hanging around working on some stuff for class tomorrow, so I’m free whenever.”

“Perfect.” Bucky’s mouth feels a little dry, and he feels hyper-aware of where his shoulder had brushed against Clint’s. He hasn’t felt like this around anyone except Steve in… well, years. What is wrong with him?

That’s its own panic to have—but maybe later. For now, he enjoys the close proximity to Clint while they quietly finish cleaning.

* * *

When Bucky gets back to their small apartment, Steve is sitting in a pile of blankets on the couch. The only parts of him uncovered are his arms, sticking out of each side, and most of his face. He’s holding a mug of steaming tea, and Bucky’s glad that _for once_ he seems to be taking care of himself.

Bucky realizes this is all a ruse when Steve looks up and says, “Oh, you’re back!” in affected surprise.

Bucky crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

“You were sure gone a long time.” Steve tries to sound casual, but he misses the mark. By a hundred meters. It’s honestly like he wasn’t even trying at all.

That or Bucky just knows him too well.

“What do you want?” Bucky says again.

Steve huffs, exasperated, and rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just want to know if you had a good time.”

Bucky goes to grumble something back, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees a text from Clint; they had exchanged numbers not fifteen minutes ago as they said awkward goodbyes.

Bucky reads the text and feels, with faint horror, a soft smile tug at his lips. _Get home safe?_

_Yeah,_ he replies. _You?_

When he looks back up at Steve, Steve’s eyes are shrewd. Bucky feels defensive, but it’s hard to muster up much energy to be contrary when he’s also still feeling _soft._ “What?” he demands—or, tries to. It comes out something more like panicked. Fuck.

“You tell me,” Steve responds, affecting carefree much better than he affected casual not three minutes ago.

Bucky, to his definite horror, _blushes._ “I have a date,” he mumbles.

Steve’s eyes widen. “I didn’t hear that,” he says after a moment, and Bucky glares because he thinks Steve’s just trying to make him say it again. But no, Steve looks genuinely disbelieving.

“I have a date,” Bucky repeats, voice firmer. “C’mon, Stevie, this is the part where you say you’re happy for me.”

“I am!” Steve insists. There’s a weird tightness around his eyes, though, that Bucky doesn’t know what to do with.

But then he considers if Steve had a date, and he thinks maybe it’s protectiveness? Because if Bucky pushes aside all the jealousy he’d surely feel, beneath it is the urge to not see Steve hurt.

“With who?” Steve asks, after the silence has almost gotten awkward. It’s a relief; there hasn’t been an awkward silence between them since Bucky’s accident years ago, when he was left with a broken arm that healed and a trauma that everyone assures him is healing, just… slower.

“Your friend,” Bucky says, and then, because Steve has a lot of friends, he clarifies, “Clint.”

There’s that weird tightness around Steve’s eyes again for a moment before it clears. “Buck, that’s great! Clint’s a good guy.”

Bucky feels relieved, honestly, to hear Steve say that. Steve’s a much better judge of character than Bucky trusts himself to be; honestly, it was probably the fact that he knows Clint is Steve’s friend that made him feel safe enough to ask him out in the first place.

With a sigh, he drops down on the couch next to Steve. “I don’t know how to date anyone,” he says, and leaves out the _anymore_ because it doesn’t need to be said. Steve will hear it in the beat of silence after the words just as loudly as if he’d verbalized it, but this way, they can both pretend not to have heard it loud and clear.

“You’ll figure it out,” Steve says, which could come off like a reassuring platitude, but it feels like he means it. “Plus, Clint’s a good guy. It’s not like he’s going to be an asshole.” Steve’s quiet for a moment and then adds, “But if he is, I’ll kick his ass.”

Bucky laughs. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve glances over at Bucky, and he says, “You know you’re the most important person in my life, right Buck?” The words sound casual for real this time, but his eyes are intent.

Bucky’s mouth goes dry. “Well, yeah,” he says after he swallows a little thickly. “We’re best friends.”

Steve studies him for a moment and then, apparently finding whatever he was looking for, nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “So make sure he knows he better treat you right.”

Bucky leans against Steve’s shoulder, careful not to jostle the cooling tea. “You got it, Stevie.”

* * *

Bucky gets to the independent coffee shop two blocks from campus at two minutes after two the next day. He would have been on time—early, even—but Steve had a fever before he left, and Bucky wanted to make sure he had everything he needed in easy reach.

He doesn’t regret that it made him late, if only by two minutes, but being late _does_ make him anxious. What if Clint thinks he doesn’t care?

It turns out he needn’t have worried; he turns up and Clint’s heading up the street from the other direction. Bucky, who looks at his shoes when he walks, wouldn’t have noticed except that he hears an excited voice call his name and his head jerks up.

Clint is wearing paint-stained jeans and a t-shirt with a hole in the hem, has a band-aid across the bridge of his nose, and his eyes are sparkling so joyously that Bucky feels captivated even from a hundred feet away. He almost trips over his own feet—almost—but luckily only falters half a step instead.

“Hey,” he says when they meet outside the shop, just a short way past the door so they aren’t blocking people’s way in or out. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and belatedly he wonders if he was supposed to do something with them. Shake hands? Hug?

The idea of a hug makes his body tense. No, okay, apparently _not_ that. Better to be awkward than the weird guy who gets freaked out by closeness.

Clint doesn’t seem to be feeling an awkwardness, though. He just grins at Bucky, smile somehow even brighter, and says, “I thought I was gonna be late, oh my god. I swear I ran from the nearest T stop.”

Bucky bit back the urge to point out that he _was_ still a bit late. He knew enough to know that would be rude, no matter if he absolutely would have said it to Steve. Maybe Steve had a point and he _did_ need to interact with other people sometimes, if only to make sure he still remembered how.

“I was almost late making sure Steve would be okay when I left,” he says instead. “He’s still sick.”

“Aw, that sucks.” From most people, it would sound like a general platitude; Clint somehow makes the words seem more heartfelt. Bucky likes that about him.

He shrugs. “He says he’ll be right as rain soon enough. I guess I just worry.”

Clint nods. “That makes sense,” he says. “You guys must be close; he never shuts up about you.” He winks, as if to make sure Bucky knows that Clint doesn’t think that is a bad thing at all. Bucky, to his horror, blushes.

“Uh, we should… go inside?” he suggests, trying to change the topic so he feels steadier.

Clint grins and moves forward, holding the door open for Bucky like some kind of gentleman. Bucky feels horribly out of his league here. “After you.”

The inside of the coffee shop is cozy, with stuffed armchairs that don’t match and small tables set in front of them, little pockets for groups of people or solo chairs for people who are alone. It’s a little bit hipstery, but Bucky himself is a little bit hipstery, so he figures that’s okay.

Clint is not a hipster. Clint is a walking disaster who trips of his own feet and almost falls into the person standing in line in front of them. Bucky catches the back of his shirt, and Clint shoots him an embarrassed smile.

It makes Bucky’s insides do some kind of squeeze-slash-dance thing. It’s a feeling that he’s all too familiar with, but usually it’s aimed at a _different_ blond.

Oh, crap, he shouldn’t be thinking about his crush on Steve when he’s on a date with Clint. That’s bad manners, even if only he knows it.

He does his best to push Steve from his thoughts. He’s more successful than normal, because just then Clint leans over to bump their shoulders together and asks, “What do you normally get here?”

Bucky’s mouth goes dry for a moment, entire brain focused on the place where their arms touched. But then he remembers how to be a human, and he answers the question only a moment too late. “Anything sweet,” he says. “Raspberry flavored stuff is my favorite, but that tends to only be on offer sometimes. I guess I prefer lattes to other stuff, but tea is good too.” He closes his mouth, realizing he’s close to rambling, and even though Clint’s looking at him with interest, like he actually _cares_ about Bucky’s drink preferences… no. “Anyway, what about you?”

Clint shrugs. “Don’t come here often,” he admits. “I work at a coffee shop near where I live, so I tend to stock up there when I can. But I like the vibe of this place.”

Bucky feels his interest piqued. “Oh, where do you work?”

Clint makes a face. “Just a Starbucks. It’s good, though—the pay—and they help a little with college money.”

Bucky is too much of a hipster to set foot in a Starbucks—or maybe just to principled—but he can understand the reasoning behind working for one, especially for tuition assistance. But… “Oh no, do you drink their ridiculously fancy drinks?” he asks, trying to keep most of the scorn from his voice. A little bit creeps in anyway.

Clint laughs. “No. Black coffee for me. I’ll do an iced nitro coffee if I’m desperate for the caffeine, but mostly I’ll drink whatever and black coffee is easiest.”

That’s… baffling. It’s not _as_ bad, but it is still _weird._ “Black coffee?” Bucky parrots, not so much because he doesn’t believe it as because he is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that someone would do that to themself willingly.

“Yep,” Clint replies with a grin. “But like I said, I drink whatever.”

They reach the front of the line, and Bucky orders an iced latte with almond milk and raspberry flavoring. Clint’s eyes are warm and amused, and before Bucky can pay Clint puts in his order and passes over the money to pay for both of them.

“I could have gotten it,” Bucky says as they moved down to wait for their drinks.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees easily, “but now maybe I have an excuse to say you can get them next time we go out?” It almost comes off as a smooth statement, but Clint’s eyes are fixed on Bucky’s forehead instead of meeting his gaze, and his voice raises pitch right there at the end, turning it into a question.

But, that said, it still _feels_ smooth. Smoother than Bucky knows what to do with, at least.

Bucky clenches his jaw for a moment so it won’t drop open instead; he kind of felt like it might as well have, though. “We’ve only been here for like five minutes,” he points out, too surprised not to say something dumb.

Clint stuffs his hands in his pockets and nods. “Yeah, but it’s been a really good five minutes.”

“I…” What is there to say to that? “Yeah, okay. Next time’s on me.”

* * *

Bucky learns a lot about Clint in the next hour and a half, the conversation moving from awkward to simply enjoyable as Bucky gets interested enough in what Clint says that he stopped worrying about putting his foot in his mouth by saying something dumb.

Clint is a second year, doing traditional art and art education; he met Steve in some of their shared trad-art classes. He works at Starbucks and lives off campus with a couple of roommates. He doesn’t have any pets, but he desperately wants a dog, and his goal in life is to work with kids. He likes comics, and he’s been thinking about starting a webcomic but never felt like he had enough time to devote to it.

Bucky shares just as much of himself: that he does glassblowing, which he’d stumbled upon by accident when he got enamored watching videos on YouTube during high school. How before then, Steve had always been the artistic one, and how Bucky couldn’t draw to save his life but found that creating something in three dimensions was a completely different story. How he’d known Steve since they were kids who lived in the same apartment building in Brooklyn.

It’s surface level conversation, getting-to-know-you kind of talk, but the way Clint seems genuinely interested in what Bucky has to say, the way he remains patient when Bucky sometimes has trouble finding the right words, makes Bucky feel relaxed enough to actually enjoy it.

Time passes quickly, and before he knows it they’ve been there for over an hour. Bucky frowns down at his watch, trying to convince it with the power of his mind that it can’t _really_ be that late in the day yet. Unfortunately, the watch remains unpersuaded.

With a sigh, he looks back up at Clint. “I should probably head back.”

Clint doesn’t look upset, at least. “Yeah, I have some homework to finish,” he agrees. He stands up and gathers up his trash and Bucky’s, moving over to the trash can by the door. Bucky follows, and then they find themselves standing there by the doors, just… looking at each other.

This is awkward. Why is this part so awkward when the conversation before it had begun to feel so natural? And, more importantly, what the heck is Bucky supposed to do with his hands?

“So, uh,” Clint says, and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than the windy day and the walk from the T already did. “For real, can we do this again soon?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he feels relieved that Clint wants to see him again enough to be nervous about asking. It makes the awkwardness easier to bear. “I’d really like that.”

He still doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He feels like they should do _something,_ but he can’t figure out what.

In the end, though, Clint just reaches out and squeezes his shoulder gently before offering him a lopsided smile and a goodbye, turning to head back toward the nearest T stop.

Bucky’s heart doesn’t stop doing flips in his chest the whole way back to his and Steve’s apartment.

* * *

Bucky is a little disappointed that Steve isn’t waiting in the living room when he gets back to their place. He kicks off his shoes in the small entryway and makes his way to the doorway of Steve’s room, where he finds Steve propped up in bed with his sketchbook.

It takes a few moments for Steve to notice him, but then he glances up and tugs out the earbuds he shouldn’t be wearing if he’s sick, because if his ears get swollen he’s more likely to get an ear infection on top of everything else. But his grin is bright and easy even if his cheeks are still flushed, and he raises his eyebrows. “That good, huh?”

Bucky can’t help but grin, blush, and duck his head. “Yeah,” he admits after a second. “It was pretty good.”

When he looks back up, there’s an unreadable expression on Steve’s face for the briefest of moments before it’s gone, replaced by easy happiness that shifts into a teasing smirk. “When you get married, I’m going to tell everyone I’m the reason you met.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It was one date, Stevie.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. “For now,” he says, and Bucky…

Bucky doesn’t know what to do with that. “Yeah, well. What are you workin’ on?”

Steve shuts his sketchbook, setting it aside. “Nothing important. Want to watch a movie?”

Bucky shrugs and agrees, because he has work for is non-glass classes he could be doing, but that pales in importance next to sitting by Steve on their just-this-side-of-too-small sofa and sharing a blanket while they watch cheesy horror movies or even cheesier romcoms.

* * *

It takes two more official dates (and the one time they run in to each other at the campus’ coffee stand and end up walking around together for fifteen minutes before Bucky has to head off to class) for Bucky to start wondering how to ask what the status of their relationship is.

He knows casual dating, and this feels more serious than that. But what if that’s all in his head? It makes him antsy not to _know._

It feels almost juvenile, at twenty-one, to be concerned if he can call Clint his boyfriend… but he can’t help it.

Steve, the fucker, is no help. “Just ask him,” is Steve’s award-winning advice.

_Just ask him._ Like it’s that fucking easy.

_“Hey, so, are we boyfriends?”_

Yeah, _no._ Bucky’s not going to be able to do that any time soon.

In the end, Clint solves the issue for him. They’re getting coffee, less a date and more meeting up to spend fifteen quick minutes together between classes—Clint is an over-achiever, Bucky has learned, and even Bucky has to go to class _sometimes_ (despite how he’d much rather just hang out in the glassblowing building all the time, despite how overheated everything can get with furnaces going throughout the day)—and Clint just brings it up like it’s effortless.

Or, well, okay, he brings it up awkwardly, fumbling the words, but it’s charming.

Bucky’s _charmed._ Who even is he? Who has he become?

“So, uh, are we… I mean, we’re dating,” Clint says, glancing up at Bucky and then away before looking back again, like he needs confirmation.

Bucky’s nervous already; as much as he wanted to know where they stood, the thought of finding out _in this moment_ is terrifying. But he nods.

“So, are we boyfriends then?” Clint asks.

Like it’s that simple. He just… _asks._

Was Steve right all along? Bucky hopes not; it’ll go straight to Stevie’s ego if he tells him so. He’s such a little shit sometimes.

It takes him a moment too long to respond, though, because Clint’s off babbling again. “I mean, I’m not really good at this whole thing, the dating thing, the boyfriends one, so I just thought I’d… ask?” Somehow, he looks so _hopeful_ when he glances at Bucky, and it hits Bucky how much this cute guy that he likes really wants to be able to call Bucky his boyfriend.

He… doesn’t know what to do with that. It gives him some feelings, uncomfortable and unfamiliar ones, but he thinks that for all that they’re foreign they might be nice once he’s used to them.

For now, though, they’re butterflies in the pit of his stomach, queasy and unpleasant. Still, he musters up the courage to nod. Then, because Clint deserves verbal confirmation, he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d… I’d like that. A lot.”

It’s stilted and awkward, but you wouldn’t know it with how wide Clint _beams_ in response. He lights up like the goddamn sun, and Bucky thinks, _oh._

It’s not love. At least, not yet. But it’s a moment where Bucky realizes how easy it could be to love this person in front of him.

He’s helpless in the face of it; he can’t help but smile back, a wide one that doesn’t hurt but feels weird, facial muscles getting exercise they aren’t accustomed to.

It’s so fucking good it hurts.

* * *

“So,” Bucky says to Steve when he gets home from class. “I have a boyfriend.”

Steve perks up like a puppy, all wide eyes and gangly limbs and excitement. “You asked him?”

“No,” Bucky says, because he won’t give Steve that satisfaction. Then, grudgingly, “He asked me.”

Steve smirks and settles back into his spot on the couch, radiating satisfaction. “Good.” He studies Bucky for a moment, and then he says, tentatively, “You look happy, Buck.”

Bucky thinks about dismissing it outright, but there’s something sincere in this moment that even he can’t wave away entirely. So instead, he says, “I am happy,” and it’s the truth.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Clint to figure out Bucky’s deepest, most closely guarded secret. Bucky attributes this to the fact that Clint knows from experience what Bucky looks like when he’s into someone, because he sees it every time they’re together.

That, or Clint’s just super observant. It could honestly be that; for someone so clumsy and awkward, he’s also graceful and shrewd. He’s a study in opposites. Bucky’s enough of a hipster to admit that Clint makes him think of that Whitman quote about containing multitudes; if it’s ever been true of anyone, that someone’s definitely Clint.

It’s one of the many things Bucky likes about him, but in this moment, it kind of makes him wish the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

They’re in Bucky’s bedroom, laying on his bed and almost-but-not-quite pressed together because it’s only a full and there’s not _that_ much space for two adult men, even if they’re barely adults and probably haven’t quite finished growing yet. (Bucky hopes he hasn’t finished growing yet; he loves how tall Clint is, yes, but he wishes he could _also_ be tall enough that he didn’t have to stretch quite so high up on his toes to kiss his boyfriend.)

Clint had come over and they’d had dinner and watched movies with Steve, and then they’d retreated to Bucky’s room, supposedly to sleep. It’s not the first time they’ve all hung out together, but it is the first time Clint’s spent this _much_ time with them consecutively. It’s also the first time Clint’s sleeping over.

It’s going well. Bucky’s like ninety percent certain it’s going well.

So, his stomach does a flop of terror and dismay when Clint’s face gets uncharacteristically solemn and hesitant, and he says, “Okay, so, please don’t like punch me or anything for this, but…”

Whatever the “but” is, it is not forthcoming. Clint just trails off and chews his lip, wide eyes staring at Bucky from inches away.

“Okay,” Bucky finally manages to agree, mouth dry. It’s easy to promise; he can’t imagine ever hitting Clint, not in any way more serious than a gentle, playful swat, the kind that barely makes contact and is more an excuse to touch someone than anything else. But hitting Clint? Never.

“So, like, you have feelings for Steve, right?” Clint says, and Bucky’s stomach sinks a little lower. Oh.

_Oh._

Oh _shit,_ but he thought he’d been better at hiding it.

“Uh…” he says, and it comes out stammered and panicky. “No?”

Clint smiles, and it’s not the sad one he gets on his face when he talks about Iowa or his parents or foster care. It’s the sweet smile he gets when Bucky’s being awkward, the one that says he thinks it is inexplicably _cute,_ and Bucky…

Bucky is hopelessly confused.

“It’s okay,” Clint is saying, words that don’t make any sense at all. “I know it doesn’t mean you like me any less. It’s not… I’m not… You don’t have to tell me anything,” Clint finally manages. “It’s not required. But I wanted you to know you _could_ talk about it, if you wanted. And… I guess I wanted you to know I knew, and I wasn’t mad, so you wouldn’t have to feel like it was some big secret.”

This boy.

He makes no goddamn sense.

Bucky thinks he might be in love with him. In love with him, or so close to it that it barely makes a difference.

“Oh,” he manages. Then, “Really?”

Clint grins. “Yeah. Want to know a secret?”

Bucky nods. Of course he does. Clint knows _his_ biggest secret, after all; it’s only fair.

“I had a huge crush on Steve too. Before I met you. Still, maybe. So, I get it. I mean, obviously my feelings aren’t the same as yours. But I get what it’s like to be drawn to him, and what it’s like to want him.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a moment. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

Clint laughs. “Nope,” he says, popping the p in a way that should be obnoxious but is instead precious. “Honest. Huge crush. It was a whole,” he waves his hand around in the air above them, “thing, you know?”

Bucky does know, and he doesn’t.

It doesn’t matter.

“I love Steve,” Bucky says. Clint goes quiet, laughter subsiding, but it’s not the kind of silent that says he’s upset. It just means he’s listening, giving Bucky his full attention. “He’s my best friend. Always has been, always will be. I don’t know when loving him became being in love with him. As soon as I realized I could be in love, I knew I was in love with him. But I never…” He shrugs. “I never thought it mattered, and I missed any chance I might have had years ago.” He’s glossing over some details, but Clint had said Bucky didn’t owe him anything, so maybe this, the bare bones of it, will be enough.

Maybe one day Bucky will tell him everything. Maybe one day he’ll want to.

For now, he just shrugs and says, “I’m okay with it. I don’t know if I’ll always be in love with him. I think I might be. It’s a part of me now. But…” And somehow, _this_ is now the scary thing. Can he really say it?

He can; he can’t. He finds a middle ground and says, “I’m falling in love with you. I’m right where I want to be, right now, right here. With you.”

Clint’s eyes are bright, sparkling to match the brilliance of his smile, brighter than the light of the moon pouring in through the window above them. “I’m falling in love with you too.” He laughs, and the first sparkling tear falls from his eyes, and he kisses Bucky like there’s nowhere _he’d_ rather be, either.

It’s so good.

It’s so much.

It’s enough.

It’s (almost) everything.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky doesn’t mean to see it.

He just has to go into Steve’s room for a highlighter, because his dried out and he really needs to study for his art history quiz tomorrow. He texts Steve for the okay, and then he goes poking around his desk, because Steve is neat in most areas of his life but his desk is not one of them. It’s all scattered papers, open sketchbooks, discarded pencils, and even some loose charcoal that Bucky rescues and puts away before it can ruin anything.

He's just spotted a highlighter under one of the sketchbooks, and he goes to dig it out when the picture catches his eye.

It’s beautiful; that’s no surprise. It’s a sketch that Steve took the time to color in, which Bucky knows he only does with his favorites, and it’s…

Well, it’s of Clint.

Steve doesn’t just sign his art, he dates it as well, and Bucky takes in that Steve made this sketch a few days before Clint and Bucky met.

Bucky doesn’t know what it means. Isn’t sure he wants to know what it means. Has the sinking suspicion he will be unable to get the thought of what it _might_ mean out of his head.

He grabs the highlighter and leaves quickly, shutting Steve’s door carefully behind him as if that can keep the thoughts of the drawing at bay.

* * *

Three hours later, Bucky has not gotten much further in his studying, but he is like ninety percent certain Steve had a crush on Clint.

Like, oh _crap,_ Steve had a crush on Clint and then Bucky went to the art thing they were both supposed to go to, and Bucky asked Clint out, and that explains all of the weirdness Steve had exhibited right around then. Oh _shit._

Bucky accidentally scored a date with the guy his best friend had a crush on.

Bucky is _dating_ the guy Steve had a crush on.

Bucky is dating the guy Steve _has_ a crush on.

Bucky is… an asshole, right? Clearly?

It takes three rings for him to realize his phone is going off, and he snatches it up and answers with barely a glance toward the name. “Am I an asshole?” he asks, a little frantic.

“Uh, no?” Clint responds. “Like, you’re actually pretty great. Which is why I’m dating you, y’know?”

_Crap._ Of course Clint thinks he’s great. He’s clearly a biased source. Bucky will have to find someone else to ask.

That might be harder than it should be, though, because his social circle so far is pretty limited to Clint and Steve. He’s met Clint’s best friend Natasha a few times, a photography major who looks at you like she can see into your soul and somehow manages to capture that on camera, and she’s pretty cool. But she’s probably also biased by Clint’s good opinion.

“Is everything okay?” Clint asks, voice a little hesitant. “I mean, I was calling to see if you had plans for dinner, but if something’s up, that’s fine…”

“I…” Is Bucky okay? He doesn’t know.

What he _does_ know is that seeing Clint would help.

So he says, “I’m not busy. I mean, I might be having a slight crisis, but that’s all in my head. I’d love to see you, if you don’t mind that I’m kind of…” He searches in vain for a word. “…weirder than normal,” he settles on. “What were you thinking?”

“I could bring over take out?” Clint suggests. “We could watch that glass show on Netflix you like to get intense over?”

That sounds _amazing._ “Yes, please. Let’s do that.”

He can hear the smile in Clint’s voice when he replies, “Awesome! Be there in half an hour. Steve’s home tonight, right? Have him text me if he wants anything.”

Normally, the reminder of how well Clint has accepted the Steve-and-Bucky package deal aspect of their relationship would be another reminder of something he deeply loves about Clint.

Right now, it’s a reminder that, oh shit, Steve is due home any minute.

“…right,” he says weakly. “You got it.”

There’s a pause, and then Clint says, “Okay, be there soon.” His voice is warm and soft like a blanket, and Bucky wants to wrap himself up in it. But then he hangs up, and Bucky’s left alone. After a couple of minutes he gives up on studying (for now), closing the book with the damn highlighter in between the pages to hold his spot.

He heads out into the kitchen, poking around aimlessly for something to drink before just settling on water. He stands at the counter, cool liquid soothing his dry throat, and before he can finish the glass and start dwelling again, Steve clambers into the apartment.

He’s talking a mile a minute about his day and his friends, able to see Bucky through the low half-wall to their kitchen, and Bucky smiles and nods and wonders if he can do this to his best friend, knowing what he knows.

But then he thinks about the way Clint’s voice on the other end of the phone was like a life-line, grounding him, and he thinks: can I give that up?

And then he thinks about Clint admitting he had a crush on Steve and wonders: is it fair to keep it a secret?

He stops thinking and wondering right around the time Steve trails off, not because he’s come to any conclusions but because if he gets too worked up it’ll be obvious to Steve that something is wrong.

Instead, he says, “Clint said to text him if you wanted any takeout for dinner,” and goes to sit on the couch and turn on cooking channel reruns.

When Clint arrives, he disappears into the kitchen and Steve quickly follows him. He’d given up on talking to-slash-at Bucky at some point, and Bucky hears a quiet murmur of their voices but doesn’t try to eavesdrop.

They come back to the living room, and Clint has a plate prepared for Bucky in one hand, his own in the other. He passes it over and sits down, cuddling close to Bucky, and Steve takes the second couch.

“Glass show?” Clint asks, checking that it’s still what Bucky wants.

What Bucky really wants is to bury his face in Clint’s neck and breathe for a while, head empty and heart full. Shy of that, though, getting intense about his passion in an attempt to forget his current anxieties sounds nice. “Yeah.”

It’s a good evening. He relaxes by degrees, and Steve stops casting him blatant worried looks, and Clint ends up sprawled across his lap, legs hanging over the arm of the couch, once they’re done with their food.

They go to bed a little before midnight, and Bucky has to work on his final project for glass this semester early in the morning, but now that there’s nothing but Clint’s quiet breath to ground him, inches from his face, he can’t just go to sleep.

“I have to tell you something,” Bucky whispers instead into the darkness between them. The curtains are drawn but not black-out, and he can see the outline of Clint’s face, the slant of his brow and the curve of his nose.

“Sounds serious,” Clint says after a moment, when Bucky can’t find the words to just _say it._ Clint sounds like he could be teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of gravity to his voice. “Is it about whatever got you all worked up?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. But he still doesn’t say anything.

Clint waits. He waits like he would wait forever, right here in Bucky’s bed, holding his hand and waiting to hear whatever’s upset him.

_Fuck._ Bucky’s in love.

“You know that talk we had?” he asks finally. “The one about feelings and Steve?”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, prompting when Bucky falls silent again.

Bucky sighs. “I think Steve had— _has—_ feelings for you.”

Clint’s quiet for a few long moments, and Bucky’s heart rate ticks up faster and faster as each one passes, so anxious he can barely remember to _breathe._

“What makes you think that?” Clint asks after a moment. There’s nothing in his voice to give away what he’s thinking; it’s not hard, but it is inscrutable.

“I saw some sketches and I just—I could feel it.” It sounds stupid, now that Bucky says it aloud. But he _knows_ with ever fiber of his being that it’s true. “I just… I couldn’t _not_ tell you.”

“Okay,” Clint says slowly. “Then I should probably tell you I’m pretty sure he has feelings for you, not me.”

Bucky is immediately confused. “What?”

“One time, right after we first met, we were at someone’s birthday party at a bar, I don’t remember who anymore—maybe Nat? that would make sense—and he got super trashed, he’s such a lightweight,” Clint begins, stopping and starting a handful of times as he speaks, like he can’t figure out where to start or what details are important to include.

“Okay, so anyway, that was like… the first time we really became friends, because I was pretty drunk too. And he was talking about how he was in love with some guy who just loved him as a friend, or a brother, or something? I don’t know, all I took away from it was that the cute guy I was crushing on was part of some kind of deep unrequited thing, and that I definitely didn’t have a chance because it sounded intense. And I’d kind of forgotten until we all started hanging out, and I saw how he looked at you. But I thought I was making things up until… well. Now, I guess, when I really remembered.”

It's a mess of a jumbled explanation.

It’s impossible.

“No, that’s not—” Bucky starts. Stops. “That can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I kissed him, once,” Bucky admits. “Summer before senior year of high school. And he said he couldn’t be with me.”

Clint raises his eyebrows, their subtle curves shifting just enough in the moonlight for the gesture not to be lost in the darkness. “Things can change?” he offers after a long moment.

Bucky scoffs. “I’m not exactly subtle in my feelings for him,” he points out. “You said it yourself.”

Clint winces. “Well, yeah. I guess. Okay, so say you’re right. Say he has feelings for me. Doesn’t change anything, does it?”

“Huh?”

Clint huffs quietly. “Well, I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. But then he can’t stop himself from adding, “But you could be with him, if you wanted.” _Too. Instead._ Bucky doesn’t really know what he’s offering.

Clint is silent for long moments. Then he says, quietly, “You’re enough, Bucky.”

Bucky feels it down to the marrow in his bones. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Clint agrees, sounding amused and soft. He shifts so that his arm is no longer tucked under his head, and instead he reached out between them so he can cradle Bucky’s face where it had been pressed against his cool pillow. “Even if things changed with Steve. I don’t like Steve because you’re not enough. I’m with you because I want to be.”

Bucky can hardly breathe for the feelings that have welled up inside of him. After a few shaky breaths, he nods. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Clint is quiet for a few long moments. “But you’re still in love with Steve, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits, the answer easy to give because it’s always been true, always will be. But also because now he knows how deeply Clint will understand that he, too, is enough.

So _of course_ Clint changes everything by saying, “I think we should tell him. So that he knows. No pressure but… if you wanted to tell him, we could.”

Bucky’s first instinct is fear. He pushes it down by focusing on it as a hypothetical. “What would be the point of that?”

“Well,” Clint says. “If he wanted, if he really was into both of us… he could be with us, too?”

Bucky hadn’t really considered that as an option. It isn’t even that he’s never known of people who did that, even if he’s not necessarily part of any of Steve’s friend groups. He knows Nat has two girlfriends, Sharon and Maria, although he doesn’t know if Sharon and Maria are together too.

“Rain check?” he asks after a few long moments of consideration. “I can’t—” He stops. Frowns, frustrated with himself. “I don’t know.”

“No pressure,” Clint agrees easily. “I’m in this with you, whatever you decide. And if we tell him, I’m still with you whatever _he_ decides. You and me, Bucky.”

Bucky feels warm and safe. He squeezes Clint’s hand and tugs it up until it’s tucked against his heart. He lets his eyes fall closed, face still cradled in Clint’s large palm. “You and me,” he agrees.

It barely takes him more than a few heartbeats to fall asleep.

* * *

Bucky allows himself to get absorbed in finals, in spending long hours practicing with glass and studying in coffee shops with Clint or Steve or both. He allows himself to get distracted so he won’t have to start noticing the way Steve watches he and Clint when they’re together, a tension Bucky can’t read in Steve’s expression.

But then finals are over, and he passed with flying colors on the glassblowing final exam. He has a goblet that he made, studded with cheap, impure gems, and it’s far from perfect but he loves it. It’s blue and red and purple, swirling colors, and he didn’t think about it when he was planning, just thought it would look nice… but now he looks at it in the sunlight and he realizes it’s _them._ The three of them. Their colors, in one piece.

Clint has a final exam today, but they’re going out to drink tonight, meeting up with Clint’s friends and Steve’s friends, with Nat and her girlfriends, everyone crowding into a local Irish bar to party before they have to go their separate ways for the holidays.

Bucky’s going back to Indiana, and Clint’s staying in his apartment here in Boston, and Steve’s going to New York. But for this weekend, it’ll be the three of them together, and that’s the best opportunity they’re going to get.

Well. They could wait. But Bucky worries that if he waits, he’ll talk himself out of this.

So he goes home, and he puts on makeup that he rarely bothers with, eyeliner and mascara and a little bit of glitter because he knows it’ll drive Clint crazy.

He doesn’t wait for Steve, heads to the bar early, and he finds Natasha sitting in a corner by herself, nursing a drink that looks absolutely lethal. “Mind if I join?” he asks her.

She gestures at the seat opposite. “Please, feel free.”

They sit in the quiet together, Bucky waiting for Clint to text that he’s on his way. Nat waiting for… possibly the same thing.

After a few long minutes pass, a waitress comes by, and Bucky opens a tab and orders a beer. They’re deep in Boston, so even the Irish pub has something to cater to the student hipsters, thank fuck. Bucky didn’t just go through finals only to have to get wasted on _Guinness._

Once he has his drink, the mug frosty enough that he can trace patterns in the ice crystals with his nails, Natasha breaks the silence.

“I never gave you the talk,” she says.

“What talk?”

“The one where I threaten you if you hurt him.”

“Oh. Uh. No. You didn’t?”

“This is not that talk.”

Bucky slouches a little in relief. “Uh. Good. Because I don’t plan to hurt him. Ever.”

“But you have made a decision to change things.”

She scares Bucky with how she just _knows_ things like that. Like, sure, Clint’s maybe told her about what they discussed before, but how could she know that he’s come to this decision, today, not even six hours ago? “Uh… yeah. If he still wants to, too.”

“He will.” She studies Bucky. “Protect his heart for me, please,” she says after a few moments. “I will not tell you what choices to make; those are yours. But… I trust you to look after him. Please don’t disappoint me.”

Somehow, this is worse than if she’d just threatened him. “Okay?” he offers finally. It’s a question more because he doesn’t know if it’s a correct response than because he doesn’t _mean_ it, though. Because he does mean it.

Clint drops into the seat next to him a few moments later, though, kissing his cheek. “I think I passed!”

“You better have,” Natasha replies evenly. “You’re not leaving me here alone.”

“Never,” Clint promises. Then, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes, he adds, “I’d miss Bucky too much, after all.”

Bucky laughs. It’s easy to relax into Clint’s embrace, to listen to he and Nat banter while he drinks his beer. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, because no matter what happens, he has this.

Clint’s enough for him, too. He realizes he hadn’t said it back, too overwhelmed and then too busy distracting himself from thinking about the conversation they’d had that night. But he hopes Clint knows it.

If he doesn’t, Bucky will make sure to tell him later.

* * *

Clint ends up carrying a drunk Steve home piggyback, which is fine only because Steve is so _small._ Still, Clint has to lean on Bucky every once in a while, stumbling as Steve forgets he’s being carried and tries to move, unbalancing his weight.

Bucky’s not too drunk, but he’s just drunk enough that when Clint leans against him, he trips a little on his feet. He catches himself, as does Clint.

Luckily, they make it back to Steve and Bucky’s place without much more issue. Steve’s begun singing, and Bucky hastily shushes him so that he doesn’t wake the neighbors. Steve pouts, but Bucky’s been dealing with that pout since they were kids.

Clint is weaker to it, but Clint can’t see Steve’s face right now, so. Small victories.

Bucky gets Steve tucked into bed, shoes and pants off, while Clint finds water in the kitchen. As he goes to leave, Steve catches his arm. “Buck,” he says. “Bucky.”

Bucky looks back at Steve. “Yeah?”

“You deserve to be happy.”

Bucky’s throat tightens with emotions he can’t name. “I am, Stevie.”

Steve lets him go, patting his arm a little harder than he probably intends to. Bucky weathers the drunken affection, still too emotional to move. “Good.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“’Night.”

Bucky collapses on his bed, burying his face in a pillow. He hears Clint come in, set water down by his head, and then flop down next to him. “Angst hours?”

“Nah.” Bucky rolls onto his side so he can look at his boyfriend. “I think you were right, before. We should talk to Steve.”

Clint’s brow furrows. “Are you sure?”

Bucky nods. “Yes. But only if you still want to.”

“I do. But you should tell me again in the morning so I know it’s not the drinks talking.”

Bucky makes a face, even though a part of him feels warm at the knowledge that Clint wants to make sure Bucky doesn’t make any choices he’ll regret. “I decided before the bar. Just didn’t have a chance to say anything till now.”

Clint nods. “Morning,” he says again. “We can plot sober.” At Bucky’s scowl, he leans in and kisses Bucky’s nose. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, only a little sullen. He can’t help the smile that’s overtaking his glower; he’s just…

He’s so in love.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m pretty much sober, I promise.”

“I’d still rather hear it in the morning—” Clint starts to say, but Bucky cuts him off.

“No, not about that. You’re right. But I want you to know I mean this next thing too. Even more. I’ll say this again in the morning, too, but I need to say it right now. I can’t go another minute _without_ saying it.”

“That’s ominous.”

“I love you.”

Clint’s mouth drops open. “You… what?”

“I love you. And I’m gonna love you no matter what happens with Steve.”

Clint blinks, and blinks again, and then a tear falls from one of his eyes. Bucky is not altogether surprised; he knows enough about Clint’s past, and suspects even more from some loaded silences in those conversations, to know what this means for Clint. So he just reaches out and cups Clint’s cheek, brushing the tear’s track with his thumb.

“I love you too,” Clint offers quietly.

Bucky grins. “I know.”

Clint laughs and shoves at him a little, but that doesn’t stop him from nuzzling against Bucky’s hand. “Okay, Han Solo.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Bucky yawns, the jaw-aching kind. “Okay, talk more in the morning. Sleep now.” He shoves at Clint until he’s laying on his back, and then Bucky curls up against his chest. “Love you,” he says one more time.

“Love you,” Clint agrees. He strokes a gentle hand over Bucky’s hair. “Sleep.”

Bucky doesn’t need telling twice. He listens to Clint’s steady heartbeat and allows it to lull him into unconsciousness.

* * *

The plan they come up with is that no plan will ever be good. Instead, they make coffee and pancakes and set out water and pain meds for Steve’s hangover. They share breakfast when Steve gets up, staying quiet so the painkillers have time to kick in.

Bucky mother hens Steve until he ends up curled up on the couch in a blanket.

Clint and Bucky lock gazes one more time, each asking if the other is serious, and when they’re both confident in this choice, they sit down on the couch perpendicular to Steve, a unit.

“So,” Bucky says. “I’ve been in love with you pretty much forever, by the way.”

Steve gapes at him. He looks between Bucky and Clint.

Clint steps in. “I have not been in love with you forever. I have liked you even longer than I’ve known Bucky, though, so…”

Steve continues to gape.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” Bucky offers. It’s not one hundred percent true. Well, it is; Steve can feel however he feels. It’ll hurt Bucky to know Steve doesn’t love him back, definitively, but… he has Clint. So he’ll be okay. “But we wanted to tell you that… we like you. If you wanted to try being with both of us, that’s... that’d be nice.”

Steve closes his mouth. That’s progress, right?

But then Steve stands up and says, “I can’t—” He bolts to his bedroom, shutting the door with a very final click.

Bucky slouches against Clint. “Maybe we should have planned more.”

Clint wraps an arm around Bucky and kisses the top of his head. “He’ll come back out when he’s ready, and until then, we’ll be here.”

Bucky sighs but nods. Clint is right. So they turn on the Hallmark channel, watching people fall in love during the holidays—and Bucky’s Jewish, he doesn’t even celebrate Christmas, why does he like these movies so much?—and try to pretend they’re not both straining to hear any noises from Steve’s room.

* * *

Steve comes out of his room just after lunch. They saved him some pizza, and he goes to the kitchen first, eating in there before returning to his spot on the couch.

They turn off the TV.

“I don’t want to come between you two,” Steve says after approximately a million years (okay, three or four minutes) of silence.

“You can’t,” Bucky assures him. “I love Clint. I’m going to keep loving Clint. Loving Clint has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why?”

“Because… love isn’t a finite resource,” Clint says. “I can love Bucky and like you, and I can know Bucky loves me and loves you, and I can want you for myself and want you for him, too.”

Steve nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Sure. Let’s… let’s try it?”

Bucky is astounded, as he always is, by Steve, his stubbornness, his recklessness, his courage. “Can I kiss you?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Yes,” he says after a moment, a flush high on his cheeks. “I think at this point that’s probably for the best.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he moves over to the couch next to Steve. He reaches out to cup Steve’s cheek, turning Steve’s face toward his. He leans in, eyes falling shut as his lips press against Steve’s.

It isn’t explosive, isn’t fireworks and roller coasters. Instead, it’s comfortable and warm. It’s like coming back to a warm home on a freezing winter day.

He pulls back and grins. “I love you,” he says softly. Then he looks over at Clint, whose eyes are dark with desire. “Love _you_ , too.”


End file.
